


Home is Behind

by ThatWasntSoBad



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, really it's just following the trilogy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:07:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26650402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatWasntSoBad/pseuds/ThatWasntSoBad
Summary: *A rewrite of my fic I originally posted on Quotev and Wattpad under the same name*Ninúphel is a Ranger of the Dunedain, living a life in self-induced exile after the loss of her father. She is now 100 and has been living away from Sarn Ford for twenty years. She has continued to protect the Shire from the darkness of Middle-Earth just as her people have done for centuries, yet she has also been to The Blue Mountains to the West and aided Gandalf when asked. It came as a surprise to her to have been requested personally by the rightful King of Erebor to aid him and his company in their quest.
Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield/Dunedine OC, Thorin Oakenshield/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Home is Behind

Rain hammered upon the road. Tiny puddles formed in the nooks and dents of the worm cobblestone paths old and largely overgrown through years of disuse. The downpour fell so heavily, the water jumped. from. the puddles in sprays and splashes. The mare was soaked, mane and tail dripping, and her ears pointed forward. She sighed and the ranger on her back released one in response.

"I know, Níniel. We're nearly there. Just across the bridge."

The bridge itself, crossing over the Brandywine River, was still standing proudly despite the beginning signs of crumbling stone on its barriers. The only use it saw was from her people, the Dunedain, when they ventured North to Bree for trade.

She hadn't returned to Sarn Ford for... ten years. She wondered how the clan there were doing. If they had witnessed the increased Warg attacks, the increased orc ambushes. If they had heard if the increased _rumblings_ of corruption to the north.

Was that why Gandalf wanted her help? Sought her aid? Thorin had asked for her presence on his quest to retake Erebor - he had done so in person in the pouring rain of Bree. It was no new news, she knew Gandalf had planned to tell him, she had been in The Prancing Pony when the conversation happened. She accepted and barely a day later Gandalf had sent her on her way to scout the old fortress of Fornost. She thought she'd be late by three days with the amount of rain they had seen, but she was right on schedule.

Before they could truly start crossing the bridge, the distant sound of chaos rumbled behind her. She turned her head sharply, eyes scanning the area of relatively peaceful countryside. In the dark, amidst heavy rain and hazy surroundings, it was difficult to see the commotion. And when she turned her head forwards again, the constant flickering of Níniel's ears warned her that something was wrong. She focused, hands tight on the reigns. It was difficult to hear anything over the rain clapping stone, pounding the rivers, but it was there. Quiet.

She recognised it. The shrill cry of orcs and wargs. They had no business being so close to The Shire. Not unless something or _someone_ they were hunting had ventured close. The weight of anxiety filled her stomach. It had not been the first time they had chased her. It had not been the first they had murdered members of her family in an ambush - slaughtering them with the greatest of pleasures. Perhaps it was distant elven blood within her veins, so far gone only the slightest point of her left ear held any conceivable trace. Or perhaps it was the Dwarven blood from the times of the Lonely Mountain - far enough for only her height to be shorter than the average Dunedain, but close enough for her to have seen the ancestor with her own eyes. Her ancestry was, as her father described, a cause for her to be considered an enemy of the highest degree despite her lack of fame.

And in her sixty years of being a ranger, she had come to the conclusion that he had been right.

She clicked her tongue and kicked Níniel into a gallop, taking her bowstring out from beneath the saddle to tie to the ash bow. Her quiver was on the right side of her saddle, in front of her knee, for ease of access.

After a little fumbling and faith that the mare she rode knew her path well, the string was connected to her bow. She notched an arrow, picking up the sound of growls to her left. From the corner of her eye, she saw movement. She aimed and fired at the silhouette quickly - too rushed in an attempt to get the Warg's head before it had a chance to overtake that the bowstring caught her temple. It stung. The pain almost numbing her temple completely.

She notched another arrow and, with a more focused aim, shot the orc as the warg fell - timed for the arrow to go through its neck. Another came from her right, too close to use her bow, and she drew the dagger on the right side of her back, her bow in her left hand, and swiftly stabbed the orc's shoulder. The Elven blade sunk deep, piercing an artery. The orc's screech was one of pain and anger. His sword arm swung at her and in a moment of loss, she lifted her bow. The sword was halted in the wood. She tugged her bow, forcing the orc to lean off his warg, and forcefully pushed it forward into the creature's neck. His hold n the blade released and he fell off the warg, tripping it over. Her dagger was released from his shoulder and she returned it to its place.

Yanking the blade from the bow, she looked behind and threw the sword into the riderless-warg behind her. It fell, tripping over a string of three behind her.

The bridge came into her view and she lowered her head at the whipping wind as an arrow flew passed, grazing her forearm.

Níniel picked up the pace, hooves clattering upon the old masonry with marker marks still etched onto every brick. Woodland followed, clothing her in a veil of darkness, and the ambush followed her no more. She allowed Níniel to slow after three minutes of silence had passed. And she clapped the mare's neck. She'd have an extra treat when they arrived at their destination. She'd have rest. Freshwater to drink, haylage to graze. She'd have extras if it was possible.

She deserved it.

_______

Waiting for the door to open felt like an eternity. The dwarven rune for 'a' on the door glowed blue. She knew she was in the right place by that alone. Her bowstring was in her satchel on her right hip, hidden by her crimson cloak - soaked from the passing rain. She had already wiped the mud from her boots on her walk up the road, asking a passing hobbit if there was anywhere for her steed to stay within the safe borders of The Shire, but to no avail. So she stood with her, for hope that whoever opened the door would have a better idea.

She wondered if her gentle rap upon the door ha been loud enough to hear and she lifted her hand to do so again when it opened. Hunched over was an older man with a grey beard that ended halfway down his chest and grey hair that fell neatly past his shoulders: Gandalf the Grey, one of the five Wizards that guard Middle-Earth. His hat off and the smile upon his face made him appear even kinder than he already was. He looked cosy, relaxed and at ease, whilst the loud commotion of dwarven mealtime sounded within the small home.

"Ninúphel, it is good to see you made it in... one piece."

She laughed as she pulled down her hood. "A few scratches, a couple bruises. Fifth run-in with Orcs in the past fortnight." The amused smile soured into a frown. "The increase of ambushes is quite concerning, Gandalf. And I fear no one's reading the writing on the wall."

"They will listen soon enough." And then he noticed Níniel. "Could you not find somewhere for her?"

"I asked but to no avail."

"I'll put her with the others. Make yourself at home."

Ninúphel stepped inside as she passed the reins to the wizard and she quietly closed the door once he had left. Anxious fingers tightened her cloak around her form whilst she stepped into the dining area. Twelve boisterous dwarves and a worn-down hobbit.

"Fili, do you think that's the Dunedine?"

"Who is?"

"The woman who just walked in."

"Oh. She could be. Say, Kili, do you think Uncle's going to be surprised to see her?"

Ninúphel sat opposite the chattering dwarves - the youngest, she assumed. One was blonde with a braided beard, the other brunett with simple stubble. She allowed them to continue their chatter, looking at them in secret whilst they continued to assume she did not listen. The blond was Fili, the oldest brother, the other was Kili - the youngest. She recalled Thorin mentioning them a couple times when they crossed paths more times than she believed to be uncoincidental.

"Would you like a little wine, M'Lady?" One of the older dwarves politely questioned. "It's red, floral with a hint of berry."

"Thank you for the offer, good sir, but I do not think my Dunedain palette is accustomed to Dwarven wines and ales." Her smile was polite and she looked at the dwarf apologetically and she sighed inwardly at his fallen features. "Alright. Just a little. Don't want to be getting drunk before Thorin arrives."

"You've met our uncle?" Kili questioned with widened eyes.

"I told you there could be no other Ranger, brother."

Ninúphel laughed quietly, only the binhale after being heard as she graciously took the shot glass of wine. "I have - but you already know that from your conversation when you saw me. Met him a couple of times actually - never planned, just happened to be heading in the same direction." She swigged the shot and returned the empty glass as she swallowed. She widened her eyes, tilted her head, blinked a few times and then relaxed her expression into thought. "It has quite the kick to the back of the throat - the focus isn't flavour. Maybe a little too much floral - offsets the berry. Tell you what it would be good as - a cooking sauce for beef. Would be very nice in winter for that warmth. Reminds me of mulled wine. I think with just the tiniest of tweaks it would be perfect. Just a touch too much flora for the berry to handle."

The dwarf proceeded to take a shot of his own and he nodded after a little thought. "I see where you're coming from. Thank you for bringing it to my attention." And then he looked at her with a smile. "Would you mind cooking something with this wine during our journey?"

"I'll try to, Master Dwarf. If not, I shall for a victory feast at the end of this journey." He smiled and she watched him leave, thanking another dwarf for giving her a plate of food as she settled more into the small chair.

"So," Kili leaned forward with a glint in his eye, "Uncle speaks of you often."

"He does?" She tore part of the cut baguette as another placed a bowl of soup in front of her. "That is very humbling."

"Do you not wish to know what he talks about?"

"Although I am intrigued, I am sure it is no different to 'you're good with a sword but your flank remains open.'"

"On the contrary, my lady!" Fili shifted forward. "We know when he's seen you around. He has this big grin on his face. He's always frowning you see."

She cracked a smile. "I can tell. It was pretty difficult to get him to smile the first time."

"What did ye do, lass?" AnotheR dwarf questioned.

"Funnily enough," she dipped the piece of baguEtte into the soup for a few seconds and took a small bite, "I didn't do anything all things considered. My horse stopped - she was startled by a cart of logs - and wouldn't budge. A couple minutes later, she moved four steps before decided to stop to eat. Thorin's on this pony, laughing away at my misfortune. Four hours later he suffered the same fate. I laughed, he laughed. Nothing crazy."

"Was that day two or three of your first meeting? When you had to go to Rohan."

"Week three I believe.Maybe he cracked a few smiles when I wasn't looking - wish I caught them before month two. It is a very kind smile."

"Do you find our Uncle attractive?" Fili was silenced to a stutter when Ninúphel looked at him. I mean -"

"I said he has a kind smile, Masters Kili and Fili, so you can close your gaping maws." She grinned. "Get to eating before your jaw hit the floor. Never know what flies will land in your mouth if you aren't careful." A.frown of curiosity graced her features. "Where is he anyway?"

"He went to the Iron Hills to request aid." A bald dwarf with a long, brown beard - Dwarlin if she recalled correctly - replied casually. "He will come."

"I hope he succeeds."

"As do I, lass."

She had finished her food by the time Gandalf had returned and sat next to her, ducking his head from plates and bowls.Dwarven company, apart from their boisterous and ill-mannered etiquette in comparison to her kin's, were polite and welcoming. As if they already knew her and had already expected her. Other than the two brothers, no one seemed too fussed or interested that she knew Thorin - probably from how many questions Fili and Kili had. Gandalf joined in from time to time with his own questions and curiosities. Then Bofur joined in and Balin and Dwalin and Gloin.

And then the knock came and the mood turned heavy.  
"He's here." And Gandalf stood after he spoke, heading for the door. The dwarves settled around the table quietly, the scuffing barely allowing her to hear Thorin and Gandalf chatterbox the doorway, footsteps of heavy boots a statement of his business manner whilst being no different too someone walking in whilst carrying themselves well.

"What drives you to be so much later than anticipated, Thorin?"

"Orcs from the South, across the river. It is unlike them to travel so close to The Shire. I suspect they were hunting someone."

She saw Thorin step inside, fingers unloading his navy cloak - bone dry compared to hers - and she smiled.

"Hunting?" The Hobbit, who's home they were residing in for the night, questioned in concerned curiosity. "Hunting for who?"

"That would be me, I'm afraid." Ninúphel stood slowly from her seat and bowed her head apologetically. They've been after me for years."

"Will they hinder us?"

"They will not, Dwalin." Gandalf took Thorin's cloak as the Prince sat, words ringing with authority. "They stay near Sarn Ford. In the past twenty years they have never followed her beyond the river." Ninúphel sat at the tilt of his end to prompt her. "She will be journey us, as per my personal request. She knows the lands towards Erebor and has a counting prowess we do not possess. She is skilled with both bow and blade."

"Ninúphel is of the Dunedain, Master Dwalin. Numenorian blood runs through her veins. It is almost impossible to find fighters across any race that are as skilled and feared on the field of battle, nor scouts and rangers so talented. Turning her away would be unwise."

"I have fought by her side on multiple occasions during the past twenty years. I trust her with my life." That was high praise coming from Thorin. He had reason to trust very little, and even fewer people.

"Thank you, Gandalf. Thorin. But he has every right to be concerned. They grow far more confident every day. They followed me to the Brandywine Bridge this time. If the seek to follow, they could easily travel from Dunland to Amon Sul. If they're in cahoots with the Orcs in Moria, it's not going to bode well for anyone. Bolg is on the move -"

"Was he at Fornost?"

"Fornost remains as empty as it has done since the fall of the Dunedain Kingdoms. She spoke matter-of-factly. "My brother ventured into the Eregion region -"

"What were you doing contacting him?"

" _My job, Gandalf._ He suspects Bolg to be moving towards Gundebad - we should expect orcs along our journey."

Thorin frowned. "And the Seven Dwarven Kingdoms will not join us. They have said that it is our quest and ours alone."

"So you're going on a quest?" The dirt blond hobbit questioned in curiosity, eyes almost gleaming.

Gandalf sat forward. "Bilbo, give us a little more light." The hobbit brought a candle close to the Wizard, who pulled a piece of paper from his grey robes and unfolded it neatly. A neatly drawn map, creased from old folds, with Erebor at it's centre. Dwarven runes laid at the top right corner and the bottom left. 

"The Lonely Mountain...?" Bilbo read quietly, curious, vaguely interested, but not overly concerned. 

"Erebor, one of the seven Dwarven Kingdoms you've undoubtedly come across in your books. In it's halls of stone, gold glitters with diamonds, emeralds, sapphires and rubies. Dwarven miners found the Arkenstone, the heart of the Mountain, and who-so-ever has the Arkenstone, all seven kingdoms go to their aid. But there was a great cost." Ninúphel leant back in her seat. "Dragon-Sickness oft comes with such treasures, corrupting and twisting minds. Even the kindest of people fall to it, no different to the Ring of Power. And with the sickness, comes the Dragon. Death. Destruction. The Dwarves of Erebor and the men of Dale were almost wiped out that day."

"You sound as if you were there."

"I was not, Bilbo. But my father and most sat around your table were."

Bilbo turned quiet and Thorin leaned forward. "The Dragon, Smaug, has not been seen in nearly sixty years. Now is our chance."

"The way into your mountain is closed off. We'd awaken Smaug trying to get inside."

Gabdalf cleared his throat. "There is another way. This map stated there is a hidden door."

Fili brightened. "If there's a door, there's a key."

From his sleeve, Gandalf procured an iron key, large enough to fit the span of his hand. He passed it to the Prince, who took it as if it were a precious jewel. Bewilderment was etched onto his features. "How did you get this?"

"Your father passed it one to me. For safe keeping."

It turned into a frown. "And it was not yours to keep."

"We find the hidden door, get into the Mountain -"

"Then we make our way to the treasury and take the Arkenstone." Thorin enclosed his hand around the key as he continued Balin's point. "From there we can reclaim what is rightfully ours!"

The other dwarves cheered in agreement. Bilbo had been stood in silence, rolling slightly on the balls of his feet, and he hummed. "It sounds like you need a Burglar. And a good one at that. An expert."

Dwalin looked at the Hobbit expectantly. "And are you?"

"Am I what?"

"You hear that lads?" A dwarf with a hearing aid, a brass instrument he'd hold to his ear that conducted sound, spoke up. His name was Oin if she heard correctly. "He says he's an expert!"

A few of the dwarves cheered and she sighed in response. "He never said he was an expert or a thief." Ninúphel gestured to the wide-eyed hobbit. "Just look at his expression. Look at his body language. Hobbits aren't thieves. They don't need to steal. Look around you. My people protect these lands from Orcs and other dark ilk. They do not have governments and kingdoms. They're farmers. Fishermen. Bakers. Innkeepers. Rolling green fields for miles around. They have no thieves. No killers. They have no need to turn to crime."

"You should listen to your friend."Bilbo gestured to her. "I have never stolen anything in my life."

Balin leaned back in his seat. "I'm afraid I'll have to agree with Ninúphel and Mister Baggins. He's well lived. Hasn't had the need to steal."

Silenced reigned for a moment. The atmosphere had grown heavier that comfortable and Ninúphel shifted in her seat. Thorin sat the key down on the table and spoke up. "Then we will have no burglar and find the Arkenstone ourselves."

"Ninúphel could be our burglar." Gloin was confident in his words.

It was something many races, including Humans, had called her people. For what reason she wasn't entirely certain. Yet when she opened her mouth to speak, Thorin held up his hand in her direction and looked to Dwalin himself.  
"I have worked with her on a number of occasions, Gloin. She is a fighter, unseen at range and dangerous in close combat. Her footfalls are light enough for us not to hear her, but on gold she would be impossible to miss. Ninúphel is no burglar."

Ninúphel looked at the youngest members - Fili and Kili - whispering to each other as if they had just witnessed a rare phenomena. She returned her gaze to the wall opposite, focusing on the brother's conversation whilst the others began making a ruckus, drowning out their whispers to her chagrin. And then the air grew cold uncharacteristically for the early Summer night. She drew her cloak tighter despite the sweat that had began to form on her back. The atmosphere grew uncomfortable. She turned to look out the circular window behind her - nothing. The only movement was the foliage in the wind. Yet, despite the candle light, a darkness grew - a sudden overcast that threatened rain in the middle of a bright, cloudless skied day. 

" _If I say Bilbo Baggins is our burglar, a burglar he is!"_ She spun around again to look at Gandalf, surprised by his outburst but not shocked. The room fell to silence, candlelight returning. She felt her shoulders relax and the Dwarves stared at the wizard with widened eyes. "Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet. Smaug would be used to the smell of dwarf and man, but the scent of a Hobbit? They are only seen when they want to be seen."

"Gandalf -" The Wizard's glance - more of a glare, really - in her direction silenced her before she had a chance to say her piece. She knew there was no arguing with Gandalf, but did he really think Hobbits, loud and boisterous with peaceful lives, were the only answer? She'd try if she had to. She had experience in battle. She had experience covering from fire - not running from Dragons, granted. But it was far more on the list of experience than Bilbo. She liked Hobbits. Whenever she'd make a brief stop anywhere within The Shire, they'd remind her of the good. The pure. The simple things. She didn't want them to see the darkness outside their border. The truth of orcs and wargs. The truth of war and battle. 

She disagreed with his choice - not out of dislike, but of principle.

Thorin seemed to share her sentiments if his frown and lowered tone was anything to go by. "If that is what you wish. But if anything happens to him, it is on you."

Gandalf nodded slowly. "Agreed."

Thorin looked at Balin, the oldest dwarf, and gestured his head toward Bilbo."Give him the contract."

The dwarf went into his coat and pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper. "It's just the usual; summery of the out-of-pockets expenses , time required, remuneration, funeral arrangements, so fourth." Thorin took the paper and passed it to Bilbo, who retrieved it tentatively.

"Funeral arrangments?" He questioned, nonplussed, as he unfolded the contract. He turned his gaze to the written words. She recalled the one she received five months previously, on a quick visit to the blue mountains, had been written in the common tongue. "Exceeds up to one fifteenth of profit, if any. Seems fair. Present company shall not be liable to injuries including, but not limited to laceration, evisceration..." he opened the up the contract a little more, "Incineration?" He furrowed his brows as he looked at the party, words sharp in his barely hidden frustration. 

"Oh aye." Bofur leaned forward, tilting his head as he spoke factually. "He'll melt the flesh off your bones in the blink of an eye. " Yet he sounded as if he was reading a cheerful fairy story. Bilbo turned silent and he paled.

"Are you okay, laddie?" Balin leaned forward in concern.

"Yeah. Just feel a little faint."

"Think furnace with wings." Still, Bofur continued. 

Bilbo sighed in annoyance. "Yeah, I know. I just need air." And _still_ Bofur went on.

"Flash of light, searing pain, then _poof._ " He made a hand gesture to follow his emphasis. "You're nothing more than a pile of ash."

"Bofur, that's enough!" Ninúphel stood from her seat, hands slamming the table in her restrained anger. She turned and reached for the handle on the window, turning it to unlock the closure and opened it to let in the cool breeze.

She picked up her chair and skillfully squeezed past Gandalf to set it beside the hobbit, who swayed despite his best attempts to stand straight. He spoke a simple _'no'_ before he collapsed. She caught him quickly.

"Very helpful, Bofur." Gandalf mumbled to himself.

"Bilbo's going to say no, Gandalf. You know this. Regardless of a Hobbit's compassion, they enjoy life here." Ninúphel straightened Bilbo enough to drap him over her shoulder.

"Yet he spends his time reading adventure books."

"You can read books and enjoy a fictional adventure without ever having to go through the hardships of a real one, Gandalf. You may have worked with Tooks who loved adventures, but not every Hobbit - regardless if they are a Took or not - wants that life and are happy to just read of them."

"And if you had the choice?" She didn't reply as she walked around the home, looking into every day for a sign of the hobbit's bed. "When your father went to Erebor, it was his first time beyond Rivendell and his father was his guide once he reached the mountain path. His uncle did not want him to go for the same reasons you do not want Bilbo to go on this quest. You protect them with your life just as your great uncle did your father.

"Before the journey, your father was a trouble maker. He got into trouble with just about anyone. When he reached Erebor, he was changed. He helped the people find a new home. He guided them to The Blue Mountains. He found them homes and shelters to rest, safe passages. He found himself there."

Ninúphel sighed. She quietly walked into the room she assumed was Bilbo's and gently placed him on the bed near the window. "That's where this is different, Gandalf." She walked to the window and opened it. "My father wanted the adventure. Bilbo doesn't." She sat quietly on the ottoman and stared out the window. She folded her arms and brought her knees to her chest quietly. Her fingers brushed against the outline of her father's journal. "If Bilbo decides to join, either today or after giving it some thought, I'm not going to deny him that. It would be his choice. But I do not want it to be a decision made for him."

Silence between them fell for a moment, interrupted by the rain that had started to fall again, hitting the window. The sound of Gandalf's footsteps were distant to her as she focused on the rain, but the creaking of the chair next to her disrupted her attention enough to listen to him.

"The Dunedain at Sarn Ford saw so much of your father they did not see your mother within you." The wizard placed a hand upon her shoulder. "Rest, Ninúphel. We leave at first light."


End file.
